


Whispers on Your Tongue

by orphan_account



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: ASMRtist Mallory, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, F/M, Graphic Description, Masturbation, Vore, not vegetarian friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 21:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20495951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Duncan decides to take the edge off after a long day with some self-love.





	Whispers on Your Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Graphic Vore. 
> 
> The plot and characters of American Horror Story: Apocalypse belong to Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk. Blah, blah of House of Cards belongs to Netflix.
> 
> All mistakes are my own.

Duncan is tired. The type of tired that aches like black eyes given without so much as a what for.

He’d spent the day attending corporate and family meetings. The crucial difference between the two is that corporate meetings rarely involve anyone insulting his intelligence by comparing him to inanimate objects. Days that are eaten up by app performance meetings and Bill’s creative insults are days that Duncan doesn’t get to do any of the interesting work. Falling behind on his catalogue of user profiles makes him tense and cranky.

He’s starving too. He’d only had time for a dry cafeteria sandwich around noon. It’s 9:30pm now and he doesn’t think he has the energy for anything more than a bottle of water and one of the ‘superfood’ granola bars his assistant insisted on buying for his pantry. He should really offer one to Bill. Maybe the acai and ancient grains will scrape off some of his shitty personality on their way out of his body. 

Duncan doesn’t like tap water but he’s out of Evian. He chokes down a glass and manages half of a granola bar. All other efforts to feed himself are abandoned in favour of a hot shower.

Toweling off and padding into his bedroom, Duncan snags his laptop off of his desk on his way to the king-sized bed. He crawls into the high thread count sheets and sighs with relief. _Finally_.

He considers checking his email but decides against it. All he could think about in the shower was hunkering down and watching the new video that his favourite ASMRtist posted this morning.

Its not porn, but Duncan gets a particular thrill out of watching Master Butcher Mallory Howell break down animal carcasses.

He’d been looking for a new rack of lamb recipe when he’d stumbled upon her YouTube channel two months ago. Her ASMR series, Knives and Whispers, had over 80,000 views_. _Ten minutes into the video of her preparing a pork shoulder with a wickedly sharp knife and he’d been hooked. The sound of her whispered instructions and the slice of the knife through skin and meat had been sensory ambrosia. Alarmed by the pricking of his skin and the syrupy welling of arousal in his gut, Duncan had spent the next three hours searching the internet for everything he could find on ASMR.

He’d learned that it stands for Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response: a tingling, static-like sensation in the brain or on the skin that is triggered by specific auditory or visual stimulation. ‘Brain orgasm’ was a descriptor that Duncan could identify with. He’d felt blissed out and cosseted in the sensual world Mallory created in her videos; treasured like one of her hunks of meat.

So what if his masturbatory fantasises now centered around her videos? Surely watching a hot chick wield a knife was less toxic than group peeing? Duncan had worn out his fascination with the dark and disgusting world of porn when he was eighteen. Creativity was necessary for him to reach orgasm alone.

He doesn’t use the videos a lot. Most nights he’s too exhausted to do more than flop in bed and wait for sleep.

He’ll bring someone home occasionally, a college student cruising the bar near his office or the attractive heir of some bigwig his mother’s schmoozing. But it’s never as satisfying as the sound of Mallory’s voice and her knives—never takes him outside of his skull.

Tonight, Duncan’s craving the oblivion of a good orgasm induced sleep.

He settles back against his pillows and pops a set of headphones into his ears. When he opens the link that he’d bookmarked this morning, he’s treated to the sight of Mallory standing in her standard black apron behind a butcher’s block. Her long hair is pulled into a messy bun and pink nail polish flashes brightly at the end of her slim fingers. Sitting on the wooden countertop in front of her is a large slab of marbled red meat. A single spot light illuminates her position for the camera, leaving the rest of her kitchen shrouded in shadows.

_“Hey,” _Mallory whispers, smiling sweetly,_“missed you last week.”_

The tension in Duncan’s brow and jaw relaxes. That _voice_.

_“Lay down and relax, it’s going to be a long one today. I’m breaking down a portion of a forequarter cow.” _Her low chuckle has goose-bumps breaking out across Duncan’s arms and chest. 

_“There are faster ways to do this, but quality cuts enhance the consistency and flavour. The right trim gives the meat a smooth texture.”_

Duncan breathes deeply through his nose, focusing on the words, letting them bleed into him. His shoulders droop, relaxing into the pillows behind him. Long fingers unclench at his side and brush teasingly against the skin of his belly. The scraping sound of Mallory sharpening her knife pierces through the haze, the low timbre of her voice reaching into the deepest, most vulnerable parts of him. 

_“_…_one of the most flavourful cuts of meat… it tenderizes into succulent perfection_.”

Duncan visualizes Mallory arranging him just so. Taking her time with him, letting her strong fingers knead into his flesh; feeling for the edges where his body fits together, a puzzle of sinew and bone.

_“…following the natural connective tissue seam between the muscles.”_

He wants—

He wants Mallory to break him down. 

Wants her to use his meat.

To feed on him.

Duncan closes his eyes and slips further into his fantasy, his mind drifting into the space between waking and sleep. His deep breaths turn into a gasp at the first touch of his hard cock, a hiss at the squeeze and rough stroke. Then Mallory’s speaking again.

He imagines her lips against his ear. _“The choicest steaks are cut from the centre section.”_

Would she be pleased with the contours beneath his skin?

Would she slip her knife between his ribs and revel in the unveiling of his plum-ripe flesh?

He wants to watch her press the essence of him to her lips. To kiss her and lick the taste of his blood from her mouth.

To fuck her and feed her and let her tear his heart out if she must.

Duncan’s stomach rises and falls with light pants. His hips jerk and his grip tightens. He rubs his palm over the sensitive tip of his cock and spreads the wetness he finds there down his aching shaft. He imagines the wet heat of Mallory’s mouth closing around him instead. 

A pulse of arousal rockets through his cock making it throb and jump in his hand. _God_.

_“…be sure to slice against the grain or you'll have a tough time chewing.”_

Duncan licks his parted lips. He feels exposed, cracked open. He wants Mallory to sink her teeth into him. To scrape flesh from bone until he cries and begs.

_“…the meat gives no resistance at all.”_

Small bites of him melting on her tongue.

Safe. Appreciated. 

Swallowed down.

“Please,” he gasps to no one. His hand speeds up on his cock, moving fast to the beat of his heart with the heady sound of flesh on flesh.

_“…the mouthfeel is just right.”_

Duncan cups his free hand around his balls and squeezes. He comes with a grating moan, hips bucking up against his hand. His come lands in milky strands across his stomach and chest.

He breathes for moment, coming down from the rush of his release. 

He glances at his computer screen and sees Mallory flutter her lashes. There’s a streak of blood across her cheek.

Brown eyes twinkle knowingly.

_“Happy eating.”_


End file.
